


Prometheus

by AngelBless



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Noctis Whump, Panic Attacks, Possession, References to Mutilation, Sleep Deprivation, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelBless/pseuds/AngelBless
Summary: “Noct?” There’s no response, not even a reaction to Ignis breaking the silence. There’s a glow of magic in his eyes; it sets Ignis’ nerves on edge. He reaches a hand out slowly, carefully. “Noct? Are you alright?”“Save us…”When a search for a Royal Arm leads to an intense fight for their lives, Noctis stumbles across a strange creature, one with ancient magic unlike anything he's felt before. He's soon to learn first hand the price of such an encounter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fun one to write! One little idea kind of snowballed and here we are! It was originally going to be part of the Evoker series, but soon evolved into its own fic :D
> 
> I hope you all enjoy chapter 1! <3

They hadn’t intended to stay there long, wandering in the valley between Malmalam Thicket and the Rock of Ravatogh. The four had received a report of rumours about a Royal Tomb in the area, close by to the one found within the thicket. But hours past and no sign of anything suspicious later, the realisation settles in that there are no remaining Royal Arms in the area.

Noctis lets out a long defeated sigh, kicking at a small rock as he walked through the grass. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky now, a sure sign that they’ll need to abandon their search and retreat to the Regalia soon, its improved headlights thankfully being enough to keep the daemons at a safe distance.

“Did you guys...hear that?” Prompto asks cautiously, jogging up to walk besides Noctis, camera held tight in his grasp as he glances around.

“Hear what?” Noctis replies casually. “I don’t—” He halts. A roar. It’s strong and deep, descending into a growl and growing louder alongside rhythmic thudding on the ground. He tenses up, a horrid feeling creeping upon him. “ _ Oh. _ ”

Stalking over the hill, a behemoth emerges, long dead prey in its jaws. They must have stumbled across its territory while it was out hunting. Okay, they can handle this; they’ve fought behemoths before. It’s never been pretty, but they’ve pulled through. Within seconds, it’s locked eyes with them, its kill dropped to the ground and bloodied teeth bared at the intruders. The ground rumbles as it leaps towards them in a run. It unfurls mighty wings, preparing for the attack. Noctis feels a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s not a regular behemoth. It’s a  _ dread behemoth _ .

_ Shit. _

The others are quick to realise the severity of the situation—Gladio already has his greatsword and shield summoned, moving to get in front of Noctis. He can’t help but tense at that; there’s no  _ way _ Gladio is going to succeed in fighting off that thing! Summoning his own sword as Ignis and Prompto call on their weapons, they prepare for the worst. Behemoths are fast, and dread behemoths are said to be even swifter—they don’t stand a chance in escaping.

It’s upon them before they even realise, claws swiping and tail swinging in an attempt to incapacitate them. Noctis takes to warping behind it, swiftly manoeuvering past its limbs and landing a few quick strikes before making distance between them once more. It doesn’t seem like a bad strategy, so long as he can keep the behemoth’s attention from the others. He’s a much quicker target, after all. He’ll just have to keep it up for as long as he’s able.

A frozen shot flies by him, coating the battlefield in an icy haze. Shivering, he keeps the grip on his sword tight as possible, launching into another warp. They could surely wear it down bit by bit if they keep their distance and play it smart.

Time passes. He’s not sure how long the fight’s been going on, but he’s sure it must be a while by now. He can’t see the sun clearly through the haze, but it’s getting darker, ominously signalling that nightfall will be soon. While catching his breath in between warps, he hears gunfire and the blades slicing into flesh as voices call out to each other, but still the beast remains adamant in its task, seemingly brushing off any wounds it has sustained. They have to wrap this up somehow; they need time to regroup and form a plan.

Noctis warps forward, right in the behemoth’s face, dragging his blade down from its forehead to its snout before throwing it away once more, following it in a haze of crystalline blue. He lands, casting a brief glance behind him.

That  _ definitely _ succeeded in taking its attention away from the others. A little  _ too _ well. He’s mid throw of his weapon and the beast is already on top of him, barely missing him with a swipe of its claws. There’s no time to escape it completely, as its tail swings, striking him in the side and sending him rolling across the ground. The world sways, he’s positive he’s sure he hears shouting as he shakes his head to clear it, hauling himself to his feet. He can already hear the behemoth upon him once more, hot breath brushing against him as it growls, only made worse by the cold.

With one swift motion, Noctis hurls his sword and follows it in a scrabble before the creature’s paw comes crashing down where he once was. It doesn’t matter where he’s throwing his weapon, he just needs to get away, to give the others time to regroup and come up with a way to take it down.

He thinks he’s heading for cover, but his head’s still rattled. It’s only when he brushes against the cool surface of the cliffside that he curses, facing the behemoth once more. He hadn’t even realised he was so close to the rock facing. But with his back to the wall like this, he can surely do some damage.  _ If _ he times this right.

It charges and he holds steady, hearing voices calling for his location amidst the haze. They don’t know where he is, but they’re not anywhere near. That’s good enough. He swaps his sword for a dagger. Wait. He needs to  _ wait _ . It gets closer…closer…

There! With barely a couple of seconds to spare, he throws his dagger to the side, as far as he can manage. Trailing after it, he lands just in time to hear the horrific crunch of the behemoth meeting the rocks headfirst.

It’s only a few seconds before it stumbles back, clearly dazed from the impact. Noctis holds still, forcing air back into his lungs as he takes note of the damage. The cliffside...why does it look hollow? A strange feeling pulls at him as his eyes lock with it.

“Noct?” He blinks hard, noticing the mist receding, before finally looking at Ignis, much clearer now the mist is finally receding. When had he found him?

“Gladio and Prompto have got the behemoth backed away for the moment,” Ignis explains. “If we’re fast, escape should be possible, but—”

“We should head inside.” Ignis blinks at the words.

“Excuse me?” Noctis has already grabbed a hold of Ignis’ wrist, leading him towards the crumbled rocks. “Noct, what are you—?”

“A hole opened up when it hit the rocks. I think it’s a cave we can regroup in!”

They reach the entrance and the two of them call the others over. It’s a lot deeper than Noctis expected, thankfully making it impossible for the behemoth to claw at any of them. He breathes an uneasy sigh of relief as they huddle back further into the depths. Even with their lights on, Noctis isn’t sure he can see an end to the cave. Although it’s more of a tunnel than a cave...like there’s something lurking deeper within the shadows.

“Maybe the Royal Arm’s down here after all,” Prompto wonders, flinching as the behemoth roars once more, sending dust and debris from the ceiling as the rock quakes around them. “Would definitely come in handy right about now!” Ignis considers the thought, casting an apprehensive glance back towards the huge beast from their temporary hideaway.

“An additional weapon could certainly aid us in our fight, but…” Ignis trails off and Noctis doesn’t even hear him continue. He’s fixated on the darkness, it feels as if it’s leading him deeper, though he hasn’t taken a step forward. There’s something there. Something he needs to see.

He just doesn’t know  _ why _ .

“So Noct, you ready for—?” Prompto halts mid-question, eyes darting over the place where he had been. Ignis has only been discussing his plan, it hadn’t even been a minute!

“Don’t tell me he went further in  _ alone _ ?” Gladio steps further into the cave, weapon in hand, Ignis and Prompto quick to follow.

“Noct!” Prompto calls, voice echoing lightly off the rock. There’s hardly a thing to be seen, not even any daemons. Something’s not right.

The tunnel gives way to a far more open room, grimy and dank, reeking of something abhorrent. Prompto covers his nose, face scrunching at the offensive smell. But there, right ahead, they see the familiar black clad figure.

Ignis approaches to stand beside Noctis, carefully taking in the sight before them. It’s what he can only describe as a humanoid figure covered from top to bottom in filthy ragged cloths, all held in place by a multitude chains. He dreads to think what lies beneath. There’s stone pillars surrounding it, each one meticulously inscribed, the glowing symbols a stark contrast against the darkness. “Noct?” There’s no response, not even a reaction to Ignis breaking the silence. There’s a glow of magic in his eyes; it sets Ignis’ nerves on edge. He reaches a hand out slowly, carefully. “Noct? Are you alright?”

_ “Save us…” _

Ignis pauses at the barely audible words Noctis speaks. He seems to be repeating it— _ pleading _ —under his breath, not taking his wide eyes from the cloth-covered figure before them. “Noct!” Ignis firmly places his hand on Noctis’ shoulder, and it’s like a spell has been broken. He blinks, the glow in his eyes dimming, dazed as he finally looks at Ignis.

“Huh? What?” His voice wavers slightly, looking around as if he’s seeing the dim room for the first time.

“The hell are you running off like that for?” Gladio demands, stepping forward.

“I…” What  _ was _ he doing? He felt like he had to explore deeper but… “I felt something. Wanted to see what it was.” Yeah, that sounds right. He’s not sure what good any of it had done, but that was pretty much the gist of it.

“Was it one of the old kings?” Prompto asks, looking around the cave and very clearly trying to keep his gaze away from the very obvious central focus of the room. “Sure as heck hope that’s not one!”

“No, it’s—” It’s what? He can’t think straight, he must still be shaken from the hit he took earlier. He scratches at the back of his head, brows pinched. “Nevermind.”

“Just tell us next time you go walking off, okay?” the shield grumbles, running a hand over his face. “We got too much going on right now without you disappearing on us.”

“Right…”

Another roar echoes from the cave entrance, a rush of cold air and mist filling the room and dropping the temperature even further. All focus is back on the behemoth outside, Noctis’ strange behaviour from before forgotten for the moment. They down potions to ease their aches and injuries as Ignis goes over his plan. They’ll start with Noctis’ Shield of the Just, creating a shockwave to distract the beast, and where they’d go from there. As they make their way down the tunnel once more, Noctis passes one more long glance at the ragged figure, barely acknowledging Prompto’s commentary on the lack of Royal Tombs and how creepy ‘that thing’ they found was.

 

The plan to escape the tunnel thankfully works, the shockwave from the Just’s mighty shield giving them precious seconds to disperse from the entrance, ready to strike once more. They’re refreshed thanks to the curatives, hoping to use that to their advantage and turn the tables.

It’s easier said than done, however. Until today Noctis had only heard of dread behemoths in passing; their tremendous aggression and strength, the powerful ice they conjure and their resistance to the elements. They’d considered themselves exceptionally lucky to have never run into one of the beasts before.

Their luck is more than out.

It’s running at a speed they can’t keep track of, effortlessly bounding to catch up with Noctis’ warps and halting the others’ attacks. More time passes and they’re all sporting fresh injuries, chilled to the bone from the ice crystallizing in the air. In a free moment between the subzero haze, Noctis sees the sun’s now dipped behind the hills—they’re out of time. This is  _ bad _ .

Free hand grasping at his arm, Noctis grimaces as the gash he’s acquired pulses with each heartbeat. He staggers back, downing a potion and trying to get a better idea of where the others are. He can’t see a thing among the thick mists. Where are they?! Did he just hear them? Or is it daemons? Blood’s rushing in his ears, breath shortening, heart racing. He can’t panic, he has to focus. Has to keep his sword drawn, has to stay alert. He can’t panic, he has to think. He  _ can’t _ —

Something whispers in his ear, stilling his mind instantly. It’s almost like words, but nothing he can understand; it just feels like something is carried within it. His eyes slip close as he listens, all else around him gone for the moment as his head throbs dully.

“ _ You can hear us...can’t you? _ ” he whispers.  _ “We beg of you.” _ He shoots a hand up to his mouth, eyes wide. That was his voice, but not his words. He feels the whispers bubbling in his head, louder now; a desperate plea, cascading down on him and crushing his head as words rise in his throat once more.

“ **_Set us free!_ ** ”

The words rip from his throat, he can’t stop it; there’s magic unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It feels...wrong.

But it feels  _ powerful _ .

He’s not thinking clearly, aching and shivering from the cold, banged up from the constant barrage of attacks, exhausted from warping. He accepts its call. He just wants this over, wants to curl up in bed and forget about this entire day.

If the chill from the behemoth’s magic was bad, it has nothing on the ice that runs through Noctis’ veins now, the petrifying feeling of dread and the all too familiar drain on his energy engulfs him as something materialises in the sky above.

Tattered rags, dripping with something dark, something sickening. Chains. The putrid smell of decay penetrating the air around them.

That... _ thing _ from the cave. It’s  _ free _ .

_ What has he done? _

New chains materialise around it from the ethers, hovering in the air in anticipation. Some release their hold of the cloth around it to join them, rotted flesh and bone peering through the dishevelled material. Noctis’ stomach turns; he’s not sure if there’s even anything human to be found underneath its coverings.

The behemoth has stopped in its tracks from the events, as have the others, the mists being blown away from the force of the summon. He finally wills his legs to move, to back away, even though he knows it’s pointless.

There’s so many voices in his head, and he can’t make out a single one of them. This isn’t like summoning one of the hexatheon. This is wrong, so wrong. His blood feels like ice, colder than Shiva, he can’t stop trembling; he stumbles back further on the uneven ground, not daring to look away.

The chains make their move, swooping through the air cleanly, all headed his way. It’s a split second decision as he warps away, barely dodging them, slicing at them with his blade as they launch at him, burrowing deep into the ground and cutting into his skin as they narrowly miss him. His senses have dulled, body slower from the creature sapping away at his strength. He can hear precision bullets ricochet from the chains, see daggers fly by and the flash of a greatsword in an attempt to help stop them, but it does little to stop their course.

A shock of pain to his left arm has his vision fizzing out for a second, his balance falters as he’s yanked backwards. One of the chains has latched around his forearm, barbs digging in as it tightens its hold. He tries to pull away, the burn only growing worse as the spikes burrow in further.

More chains materialise. They wrap around his other arm, his chest, legs, neck. Each of his limbs pinned in place, spikes lodged into his skin as blood seeps from the multitude of small wounds. The chains pull his arms to his sides, another one wraps around his fist, holding his sword in place.

He tries to move, in spite of the metal grinding into his flesh, turns his head in search of the others. Another chain flies by, lacing itself around his head, running along his face from forehead to cheek. The restraints are pulled tight; his breath comes in gasps as they constrict his chest and throat. There’s a cacophony in his head, all encompassing—he can’t hear the others, or even move to find them anymore.

Until at long last, he moves.

Except he isn’t the one moving. The chains are yanking him, this way and that, forcing his body to act without his command. His voice is frozen in his throat. He wants to  _ scream _ .

His puppet-like body bends at the will of the creature high above him, twisting to face the behemoth. It’s a horrific realisation dawning upon him—the beast looks  _ terrified _ in the presence of the ragged being.

One of the most devastating creatures on all of Eos  _ fears _ whatever it is he has summoned.

“ _ So let it be done. _ ”

He feels sick as he once more speaks words that don’t belong to him—the feeling transforms to pure terror as the chains expertly control his every motion, from running towards the beast, to brandishing his sword and slicing powerfully at its leg. The sheer force of the impact rattles through his bones, but he’s dragged forward regardless. The whispers increase, it feels like it’s reaching  _ inside _ him for something. It’s only when fire forms in his free hand that he’s hit with the sickening realisation—it’s somehow controlling his magic.

But no, this is something so much more; magic flows through him he’s never felt before, much rawer than the Crystal’s, much more chaotic. Dark fire blasts at the behemoth and it springs into action once more with a deafening roar, bounding away and swiping its tail towards Noctis. The chains refuse to give and the brunt of the impact strikes against his immobile body. He’s sure he feels bones cracking, vision blacking for a second and a horrific ringing in his ears as it gets even harder to breathe.

“Noct!”

Gladio’s racing up to him, barely audible or visible from the corner of his eye, sight wavering in a way that makes him nauseous. His body sags, making the burn of the prongs messily digging into his skin and through his clothing worse than before. They aren’t deep, but they sure as hell  _ feel _ it. He’s not breathing more than short sharp gasps as his arm is raised for another strike.

“S...stay back!” he manages to choke out, a sharp cry escaping him as his arm is wrenched back, dark miasma surrounding his blade. He needs to keep the others away, he can’t risk what this thing is going to do if they get involved. The grip on his fist loosens to fling his sword into the behemoth’s side. It lodges itself deep—almost to the hilt—as the beast thrashes around. Noctis feels himself pulled towards it as the world ripples blue and black around him.

His entire body feels the impact of the attack, feels the heat on his skin as fires erupt from the blade, casting its entire body alight.

It howls, the flames growing stronger, melting away at its skin as Noctis’ arm rips the weapon from its side, thick blood spattering his skin and clothes from the motion. He’s forced back into a leap, gritting his teeth as he lands.

The behemoth is racing towards him, sporting a limp and bloodlust in its eyes. Weapon dismissed, Noctis’ arms are pulled before him as it recoils, twitching and writhing as its limbs and bones are crushed by the fists Noctis is forced to make, a strong pull of gravity centering on the beast. Disgusting crunching noises ring across the battlefield, and somehow, against the agony of it collapsing in on itself, its wings unfurl once more in a pitiful attempt to escape. A slew of even more chains emerge from the sky. He squeezes his eyes shut—he’s getting dizzy from the constant energy and magic drained from him, the horrific magic mixing with his own. He’s waiting for it to end,  _ hoping _ it somehow ends soon, by whatever means necessary.

Sickening wet sounds—the sound of cracking and a keening howl—invaded his already noisy mind. He pries his eyes open, blinking back the blood that trickles down his face, to see the chains piercing through the behemoth, skewering it from all angles. Its bones are crushed and broken, chest heaving in strained pants as it lies slumped against the ground. Once more, Noctis’ arm is raised, that same dark magic coursing through his body and into his hand.

A final blast is unleashed, the behemoth’s body growing still as the unnatural flames thoroughly engulf it.

His stomach churns at the sight before him. All that remains of the creature is its skeleton, with scraps of tattered flesh clinging to its bones. He wants to shut his eyes once more, to be rid of the disgusting corpse he can’t turn away from, but his vision is failing and he fears what might happen if he does.

The being finally lowers from the sky, halting its descent behind Noctis’ bound form. He can feel the deathly chill, setting his already frayed nerves on edge.

He blinks hard in an attempt to focus his sight, body trembling as he sees the others approach hesitantly. He grits his teeth—his throat burns, he finds himself unable to say anything, he wants these chains off him, he wants this  _ thing _ , and the awful magic coursing through him to be  _ gone _ .

_ “The Gods abandoned us, left us to rot, yet their Chosen sets us free,” _ Noctis finally speaks, the tone unnatural from his mouth, his eyes showing pure fear that disconnects the evenness of his voice.  _ “The waters call us still. We long to escape the waters, we yearn for our freedom.” _ His voice cracks, rising in intensity.  _ “Grant us our freedom at last. Deliver us what the gods have denied!” _

The chains release their hold at long last, drops of blood flying as they return to their ghastly owner. Within seconds, it is gone.

It’s as if Noctis’ body is a lead weight, his knees buckling without the chains keeping him on his feet, muscles aching from the strain. They cry out his name, Gladio racing forward to catch him, leading him to the ground carefully. His hands are light, almost hovering once he’s on the ground. Like he’s scared to touch him. Ignis kneels down, potion in hand. It takes a few seconds before Noctis’ trembling hand is able to crush it, finally breathing a little easier as the multitude of wounds littering his body heal.

He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. It still hurts to breathe; he can’t help but wince.

“Noct?” He lets out a weak hum as he feels a cool hand on his forehead, brushing his hair away. “Noct, open your eyes.”

He didn’t even realise he’d closed them. Prying them open with some difficulty, he’s met with Ignis’ concerned face. He locks eyes with Noctis intently, before letting out a relieved sigh.

“It seems the superficial injuries have healed, but…” Ignis trails off, placing a careful hand against Noctis’ ribcage. He hisses in response, and another potion is pressed into his hand. “Drink it, it will help.”

“Thanks,” Noctis breathes out carefully, downing the potion. His head’s still swimming, ratting about as he tries to make sense of what just happened. “I...I don’t know what that…” He can’t even find the words.

“Didn’t think for a second you did,” Gladio replies, keeping hold of his charge. “Any clue what happened?”

“I just...I heard it, in my head. Like when I summon one of the Six.” He rubs at his still tender neck, grimacing at how rough his voice sounds.

“That was...really something else.” Prompto runs a hand through his hair, in awe and fear of what had just transpired.

“It certainly was—I do believe we’ll be talking more about this later.” Noctis frowns at the thought, glancing up at Ignis as he adjusts his glasses before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But first—are you all right, Noct?”

It takes him a moment to really think about the question. He’s not entirely sure he  _ is _ okay really, and he’s sure Ignis knows that, but he feels...not as bad as he thought he should after such a horrid event. It’s strange, he can’t quite place it. “I’m...okay,” he finally replies, pointedly ignoring the weight in his eyelids and the deep ache in his muscles, fatigued from using so much magic. “I think...I just wanna head back to the car now.” His voice is bordering monotone, exhausted. He knows the others have picked up on it, especially when Gladio moves into a better position.

“Need a lift?” He extends a hand, but Noctis shakes his head in response.

“I think I’ll walk.  _ Really _ don’t feel like sleeping right now,” he replies with a tired laugh. Gladio hauls him to his feet, keeping his grip tight to counter the stumble that follows. Noctis can feel the firm hold Gladio’s got around his shoulders, a grounding presence to focus on while his mind continues to dart in multiple directions. Before he’s even realised, he’s reached a hand up to rub at his temple, letting out a low groan at the dull ache that’s settled itself behind his eyes. He was damn lucky not to hit stasis, he must be close by this point.

He hears Ignis discuss something with Gladio, before turning to see him jogging off towards the cave they had found that... _ thing _ in. Noctis’ gaze lingers on the entrance, mentally travelling down the length of the tunnel once more, and what lay at the end.

“Specs is gonna catch up with us.” Gladio jolts Noctis out of his thoughts as his shield begins to set a steady pace towards the car, Prompto scouting ahead in the dim moonlight. “There’s no daemons nearby, he’ll be fine.” It’s as if he’s answering Noctis’ concern before he’s even spoken it...but it does raise an interesting point.

The daemons. They aren’t coming any closer.

As they walk, he’s not sure if he’s imagining it at first, but he grows more sure of it by the minute. Bombs and iron giants roam the lands, spoiling for a fight, but they refuse to come close to the group as they travel. It would be genuinely unsettling, if it wasn’t such a relief to witness.

After a few minutes, Ignis has rejoined them, relaying some information to the others. Noctis doesn’t really pay attention, although he probably should, all things considered. He’ll ask them about it later.

Finally approaching the car, Prompto lets out an excited cheer. Noctis can’t help but feel a small smile tug on his lips; it feels as if they’ve been walking forever.

He’s the first one in the car, falling unceremoniously into his seat and letting out a long sigh as he practically melts into the upholstery. He’s fast asleep before anyone can even suggest he rests during the short ride fo the rest stop.

He unfortunately wakes barely a few minutes later, an ominous feeling tingling in the back of his head. Pulling his phone out, he opens up King’s Knight and easily ropes Prompto into joining him.

As he plays, the feeling of chains wrapped around his skin remains far too fresh a sensation, as do the words spoken before the creature faded into the night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after the strange chain-bound creature was summoned, something lingers that refuses to leave Noctis alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again!! So what started as a 2 chapter fic has ended up as 3 chapters! Writing's just so fun like that xD
> 
> Heed the tags, and I hope you lovely folks enjoy! :D

It’s midnight. At least, he thinks it is. Definitely the early hours at the very latest. Noctis glances sheepishly around the motel room, having just awoken jarringly once more from a slew of strange images and words swirling around his mind. _Again_. He groans, running a hand heavily over his face.

“You ‘kay, dude?”

He looks over to Prompto, who looks far too comfortable in the bed next to his, eyes peeking out over the covers.

“Y-yeah, I’m…” He pauses, trying to remember what he’d just seen in his sleep, finding it difficult to cling onto. “I’m okay. ‘Nother weird dream, that’s all.”

“You were talking in your sleep again,” Prompto mumbles, brows pinched as sleepy eyes stay locked on him. “Sounded like it hurt.”

It… _hurt_? He tries to reach for an answer to the images he’d seen once more, but comes up short. All he can really focus on is the deep ache in his muscles, driving through to the bone, throbbing with each pulse as if something’s tried to dig deep inside of him. It sends a chill through his spine, how every night he’s constantly waking up with this awful feeling. By sunrise it’s pretty much gone, but at night…

“Need some company?” He’s dragged from his thoughts as Prompto clambers carefully out of his bed, sitting beside Noctis. There’s an amused little smirk on Prompto’s face at the look of surprise in response.

“I...guess that sounds nice?” That’s apparently all Prompto needs as he grabs the covers, diving under and snuggling up, drifting off far too easily. Noctis waits a few moments before finally settling back down, eyes half open as so much still runs through his mind.

 

“You sure you’re up for this?”

Noctis jolts as a hand gently claps him on the back, trying not to stumble from the sudden contact. He looks over his shoulder at Gladio patiently waiting for a response.

“As I’ll ever be,” comes his far too half-hearted reply, blinking slowly in an attempt to give his eyes the relief they seek. It’s nowhere near enough, he knows that. He’s just not sure how to fix it. He looks away as Gladio continues to fix his concerned stare on him. “We _need_ the money, Gladio,” he mutters. “It’s fine.” Before Gladio can respond, Noctis is already making his way towards Ignis.

“Seems it’s just a short walk from here,” Ignis informs them, putting the now-folded bounty details back in his pocket. And so begins the trudge towards the waterside, where they find a familiar bridge awaiting them. Noctis’ skin prickles; the bridge lead directly to Malmalam Thicket, and not far from the Royal Tomb…

He feels an arm around his shoulders and jumps, letting in a sharp gasp of air as if he’d forgotten to breathe. Prompto’s there, smiling widely, but Noctis can see the worry in his eyes. “Ignis said after we get this bounty, we can kick back a little. Catching up on some sleep sounds great, don’t ya think?” Noctis knows he must have pulled a face as Prompto’s expression suddenly altered. “In the day, I mean. I know night’s not been great with you lately.”

Noctis can’t help but let out an amused snort at that. “You don’t say,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

“...Figured out anything from those photos yet?”

Noctis’ attention is drawn away as he overhears Gladio speaking quietly with Ignis up ahead.

“Nothing as of yet, but there must be something we’re missing, he’s—” He catches sight of Noctis looking over to them. “Perhaps now is not the time.”

Noctis can’t help but feel stung; he knows they’re talking about him, as they have the past week since that entire incident happened. All he knows from them so far is that the cloth-covered figure was no longer in the cave when Ignis had scouted the place out afterwards.

That kind of thing never bodes well.

And neither does the constant mutterings when they think he can’t hear them, as he’s discovered lately. He knows his strange dreams are connected, he just doesn’t know what they’re supposed to be telling him, nor can he remember them well enough. He’s sure it can’t be anything good. All he knows is they’re getting more frequent, the ache within him flaring up with a greater intensity by the day, leaving him with unpleasant memories of when he was 8 years old and wheelchair bound.

He takes in his surroundings once more, allowing his mind to drift. Grim clouds are approaching, signalling a change in the weather, but even without the unwelcome risk of rain it’s getting darker by the minute, late afternoon dissolving into early evening. They’ve been on the road all day, picking up the hunt to tide their funds over as they follow up yet another Royal Arm rumour. Noctis can tell they’re all united in hope that it won’t end as disastrously as last time.

“Target sighted.” He’s brought back to the present as Ignis halts them, eyes locked on the riverbank at the other side of the bridge. A group of seadevils are skulking around, patrolling the waters and snapping at anything that comes their way. If they can keep away from their jaws, they should be good.

_If._

They decide to launched a sneak attack, Noctis warping in at them from the far edge of the bridge while the others rush in. It’s not perfect, but those few seconds of confusion should be enough to gain the upper hand.

Noctis can tell Ignis isn’t entirely happy with this plan, with how disrupted his sleep is lately. They’ve steered clear of fights for his sake but it can’t be avoided forever. They’re fighting these creatures _now_ , not when he’s well rested.

On the signal, Noctis tears through the air, following his sword across the river, striking the nearest seadevil. As it flies onto its back writhing around, Noctis hears a chorus of disgruntled growls and the shuffling of clawed feet. Well, they definitely know he’s here now.

Sharp gunfire cracks through the air as Ignis, Gladio and Prompto race from the bridge, weapons poised. There’s a light mist of water in the air; Noctis isn’t sure if it’s from the river or the impending rain. He just hopes it doesn’t make the rocks slippery or they’re in for a rough time.

By the time they’ve taken a small number of them down, it’s gotten dark _fast_. The ominous clouds have beckoned the rain as the sun begins to sink lower, and this is already taking too long. More seadevils keep emerging from the river, spoiling for a fight and only adding to the sheer number of enemies they have to take down.

This nest is far bigger than they’d ever anticipated, and a dread trickles through Noctis’ head, down his throat and lodging itself into his stomach. They’re running out of time again.

He’s just managed to create some distance between himself and one of the seadevils when something tingles in his mind. His heartbeat picks up, breath joining it. Something doesn’t feel right.

It’s a lapse in concentration he can’t afford to make. One second he’s upright, the next he’s on the ground, back aching from the force of something slamming into him. Water drips from his body as he struggles to draw air into his winded lungs, wincing as his chest aches from the impact. He moves to roll over, dagger drawn and ready to fight—

Searing pain encompasses his leg. He cries out, at last catching sight of the seadevil that has him in its jaws. Every movement shoots fire through his nerves, voices in the distance faint but far too loud at the same time. He tries to keep a firm hold of his dagger, but he’s shaking too much. Closing his eyes tight, he just tries to think, to _breathe_.

The next thing he knows, he hears gunshots and a sickeningly wet growl as the pressure on his leg lets up. He could almost cry with relief at how much better it feels, despite the awful pain still shooting through it. Prompto’s by his side with potion in hand, hurriedly urging him to drink it.

It’s absolutely heavenly, numbing the ache in his leg to almost nothing and easing his chest. He’s hauled steadily to his feet, resummoning his sword.

“You okay?” He’s giving Noctis a long look and a spike of guilt passes through him. They shouldn’t be so worried about him in a fight like this—it’s not fair.

“I’m fine,” he replies probably a little too quickly. “How many left?”

“Looks like it’s just what’s on the bank.” Taking stock of the area, Noctis is thankful seadevils are so lively, making it much easier to see the remaining four among the dead. He can’t believe so many had been taken out while he was so distracted with just one of them. He really _is_ off his game lately. Prompto’s already raced off and back into the action, leaving him alone once more.

The torches fitted to their jackets thankfully light up as what little remaining daylight there is gets dimmer, a chill in the air as it continues to rain. It’s getting heavier, plastering their hair and clothes to their faces, making it harder to see. Noctis thanks whatever being will listen for his friends, remaining so focused and taking on what’s left of them so adamantly. He adjusts the grip on his sword once more. Moving closer to the others, he grimaces as the lingering pain shooting up his leg, causing a slight limp. He can’t wait for this to be over.

A shiver creeps up his spine as it grows darker still, and Noctis hesitates once more. A feeling pulls at him, drawing him away from the battle. Whispers. _Pleas_. It’s as if ice is settling within his bones once more, an incoherent mess of words forcing their way into his mind. No, it can’t be. It’s just the rain, it has to be—

His breath grows short. Too short, heart hammering in his ribcage. It’s as if he can feel the chains lock themselves around him once more, digging into his flesh, causing his skin to burn with each movement. But there’s no chains—it can’t be that. It’s gone.

It has to be  _gone_!

Oh gods, the feeling isn’t going away, it’s only getting worse. He raises his arm, trembling and trying to prove that it’s his own control. It’s almost enough to calm his racing mind down. Almost.

“ _Save us._ ”

He throws his blade to the side, clamping shaking hands over his mouth at the utterance of the words. Had he really said them? Had he intended to? This is bad, this is _bad_. He can’t do this—not again. He can’t think. He needs to get away.

 

Prompto lets out an overly loud ‘woop!’ as the final seadevil falls, before cringing at the mini massacre they’ve left in their wake. “We’re not even gonna get paid double for all this, are we?”

“Not a chance,” Gladio responds, sending away his sword. “Only get paid for what’s on the flyer, you know the rules.”

“Dang it…” Prompto practically deflates.

“Has anyone seen Noct?”

He perks up again at Ignis’ words. “He was right over…” He points over to the direction he last saw his friend, only to find the area empty. “...there?”

“Did he get dragged in?” Gladio muses with hurry in his tone, jogging over to the waterside. “We could’ve missed one of the bastards.”

“I think we would’ve heard the commotion,” Ignis replies, removing his glasses and wiping at the rain coating them, hoping to get a better view of his surroundings. Prompto will never have any idea how Ignis can always sound so _calm_.

“Noct?” he calls out, pacing along the riverbank. Ugh, this rain _sucks_ , why does every trip lately end up in fighting when it’s dark and miserable?! He pauses, looking at the object nearby glinting in the rain. Noctis’ sword. Carefully picking it up, he examines it for anything unusual, heart quickening with uncertainty. He moves faster along the bank. “Hey Noct, come on, this isn’t funn—” He freezes. Noctis is curled up behind one of the rocks lining the river, fists gripping at his hair tightly, teeth clenched and breathing far too fast. Prompto is fast down by his side, hands carefully on Noctis’ arms. He’s muttering something with each gasp; all Prompto can hear is ‘not real’ said over and over. “Noct, can you hear me?  Come on, breathe.”

Ignis and Gladio have already joined them, each as near as they dare to get. It’s a long few seconds before Noctis as long last wrenches his eyes open, full of panic and darting between the faces that greet him.

“Deep breaths, Noct,” Ignis soothes, a gentle hand on his shoulder as bit by bit, the tension leaves Noctis’ body, finally releasing the death grip he’s got on his hair and breathing just a little bit easier.

“I could...I could hear it,” he gasped out, voice rough. “I could _feel_ it.” He rubs at his skin adamantly, the prickling sensation on his skin so fresh, the event from two weeks ago could have only just happened for all her knew. “It’s not real, right? Can’t be, it’s _not_!” He curls up on himself once more, head low.

“The seadevils are all gone, Noct, and no other creatures to be found,” Ignis says clearly. “There’s nothing to be seen, no cloth-covered figures or chains. I promise.” He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. We should have anticipated something like this.” The guilt in Ignis’ voice is evident, as is the guilt everyone is sharing at this point. They knew night time was bad when he slept, why wouldn’t it be bad during combat too?

“Let’s head back before anything else shows up.” Gladio says, glancing around. The coast is still clear, but that’s no guarantee. “We can talk later.”

It’s true, there isn’t much recovery period to be had. They’re just going to have to deal with it when they’re in a safer position. Coaxing Noctis to relax once more, Ignis and Prompto help him to his feet, his limp not escaping their attention.

“I’m _fine_.” It’s like Noctis is preempting whatever they’re going to ask. His head is swimming and his eyelids have that same awful heavy feeling like he’s expended too much magic. He hasn’t though...has he? He doesn’t even know anymore, had any of that even happened? What would it even mean if it had?

His mind wanders. Before he knows it, he’s across the bridge, Ignis keeping a steadily arm around him across the dark terrain. He looks hazily around. Not a single daemon dares to get closer. It’s just like last time. The thought doesn’t fill him with much confidence.

They’re soon at the car, picking up some supplies before making their way to the haven nearby. As effective as the Regalia’s souped up headlights are, travelling in this weather is a foolish task.

Noctis sits on the cooler, looking thoroughly exhausted with an umbrella loose in his grip as the others set up. He’s too tired to even protest sitting back by this point.

He’s the first one ushered into the tent, ordered to get changed into dry clothes before eating anything. The whole thing screams of excessive babying, but he’s tired, wet and miserable, so who is he to complain?

He doesn’t eat much, not that anyone is surprised, and not before long he’s crawling into his sleeping bag, foolishly hoping he can actually get some sleep. He doesn’t even hear the others settle down for the night.

 

Prompto groans, shuffling deeper into his sleeping bag, hoping to block out whoever’s talking.

Wait...talking? He twists around under his covers, knowing instantly who to check. Noctis is...sat upright? Staring blankly ahead from what Prompto can see. He sits up, leaning forward to get a better look as his hand haphazardly shakes Ignis’ sleeping form next to him. He ignores the disgruntled sounds as he focuses on Noctis.

“ _...Our power sealed, our existence forgotten._ ” The words are quiet, almost mumbling. How long as he been talking?

“Noct?” Prompto says cautiously, unsure of what to do. He hears shuffling as Ignis puts his glasses on, snapping out of his sleepy haze at the sight before him. Noctis’ eyes are open, staring blankly ahead. There’s something...not right about them.

“ _We who do not remember our names, who have had our bodies—our purpose—rended asunder._ ”

“I fear he can’t hear us, he may still be asleep.” Ignis has shuffled besides Prompto as Gladio comes to, watching intently. “How long has he been like this?”

“Dunno, I just woke up.”

Ignis places a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, squeezing it ever so slightly. He’s been quiet for a few seconds now. “His eyes...they’re the same as back in the cave. Noct? Noct, you need to wake up.”

“ _At long last, we have found a conduit for our power. At long last, we can be free._ ” Noctis idly moves his hands before him, palms up. Fire laced with a chillingly familiar darkness forms in his hands. Ignis lunges forward, hands on both shoulders, shaking him.

“Noctis!”

Noctis blinks once, twice, the shimmer in his eyes vanishing alongside the fire he held. His breath picks up as his eyes meet Ignis’.

“Iggy—?” He lets out a cry, arms wrapped around himself as he hunches over, muscles tensing and sucking in sharp gasps of air. Gladio’s by their sides now, confusion and alarm in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks, eyes darting between the three of them. He rests a hand on Noctis’ leg. “Noct?!”

It’s a long minute or so before the tension in Noctis’ body finally fades and he slumps, caught by waiting hands as he finally releases the pained breath he’s been holding.

“Noct? Can you hear us? Tell us where you’re hurt.” Ignis tries to sound calm but it’s not fooling anyone. Noctis lets out a low groan before opening his eyes.

“Not...so bad now,” he mutters, attempting to right himself, reaching a hand to his aching head. “Worse than before, though.”

“‘Before’?” Ignis repeats. Noctis doesn’t even realise what he’s just said; he aches too much to care.

“Few nights now, everything kinda...hurts,” he says vaguely, words not really coming together so easily. No point hiding anything, he supposes.

The others exchange brief glances.

“I’ll try sleepin’ again. Sorry I woke you.” It almost boggles the mind how quickly Noctis deflects from his current situation, avoiding any further trouble for his friends. But here he is, pulling himself away from the others’ grips and laying back down, snuggling up under his covers once more. His eyes close, but no one believes he’s actually sleeping.

Ignis rubs at his temple, sighing. “Let’s just...try and get some sleep. We can discuss further in the morning.”

After some hesitation, they all settle back into their sleeping bags.

It doesn’t seem like anyone gets much sleep that night.

 

Noctis scrunches his eyes tight, grumbling as he rouses. Had he actually slept? He’s not sure, his head feels foggy, body aching once more. This is getting ridiculous. He hauls himself upright, rubbing at his face, finding the tent empty. The opening is partly open, allowing a lazy fresh breeze to filter through in wake of the rain. He can hear the others’ voices outside, and detangles himself from his sleeping bag, crawling closer.

“...Really think that’ll help?” He overhears Gladio first.

Ignis sighs. “I fail to see any better option for the moment. The Royal Arms can wait. There’s something very wrong going on, and we’re running out of options.”

So they’re talking about him again. No surprises there, all things considered.

“Any luck with those runes?”

Runes?

“None as of yet. I’ve scoured whatever texts I can find, but information is fleeting at best.”

“Same here.”

They both descend into resigned silence, Noctis trying to figure out what they meant. What runes? He thinks back to last week. Maybe there was something in the cave?

He’ll have to ask later. For now, he parts the tent flaps and scrambles out into the offensively bright sunlight. Any further conversation between his shield and his advisor halts instantly at his presence. Again, no surprises there.

“Good morning, Noct,” Ignis greets, as casually as ever. “Did you sleep well?” Noctis shrugs slightly in response, muscles still sore from...what he assumes happened last night. He’s really hazy on the details, but he’s pretty confident it wasn’t just a dream.

“I guess?” The rest of the night had passed without him weirding everyone out again, so he supposes he can call that a success. He flops into one of the empty chairs, letting out a long breath, thinking about what had happened. He remembers seeing...something. He’s not sure what. A vision in his mind, something that he can’t fully comprehend. A twisted figure, screaming, stone walls—he can’t piece it together, the thought of it sending his stomach into knots. Ignis clears his throat and the scrambled thoughts unravel once more. Giving a weak thanks as Ignis hands him some breakfast, he idly eats as Prompto clambers up the rocks, out of breath from what must have been his morning run.

“Morning!” Noctis groans internally. As peppy as ever. “So, how are you...y’know?”

He doesn’t have a clue, honestly. “I’m fine.” He pointedly ignores Gladio’s snort of disbelief.

“Regardless, recent events have been quite...taxing,” Ignis puts delicately, already packing up the cooler. “We’ve decided to head to Cape Caem for a few days, Noct. Some relaxation surely wouldn’t go amiss.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that. His own lack of sleep has had the others working so much harder in his stead; they’re all ready for a break.

 

“It’s so good to see you guys!”

Iris enthusiastically races down the pathway towards the Regalia, eager to meet with her brother and the others again. Gladio tussles her hair, earning a pout and a giggle.

“So what brings you back so soon? Cid’s not going to be done with the repairs for a little while yet.”

“Yeah, we know, but it’s been a rough week,” Gladio explains as they make their way up to the house. “Thought we’d kick back for a few days.”

“Well I know Talcott’s going to be _super_ excited to hear what you’ve been up to lately!”

Prompto lets out a nervous laugh, disguising it by clearing his throat. Iris doesn’t seem to notice, content with talking to Gladio while hovering closely around Noctis, who takes a long glance up at the building.

He _really_ hopes this will help somehow.

 

“Don’t worry Noct. I know things have been weird, but now’s the time to _relax_ ,” Prompto says, flopping onto the bed he’s claimed. “Maybe you can try being nocturnal for a while or something? Just get some sleep as best you can, okay?”

He offers a big grin of reassurance and Noctis gives a tired smile in response, before unceremoniously crashing down on his own bed face first.

“At least take your boots off first, dude!” Prompto squeaks. Not that he’s heard, Noctis is already out like a light. Seems drifting off to sleep on the journey there hadn’t done much to ease his fatigue. Prompto gives him a warm smile, ruffling his hair before heading off to help the others out.

 

Judging from the late afternoon sun, a few hours have passed as Noctis opens the door with a creak. It’s like that nap has made him feel _worse_ or something, muscles protesting with each movement. He must have slept in a weird position or something.

“Look who’s finally joining us,” Gladio announces with a smirk of amusement as Noctis pulls a face, still bleary eyed and waking up and _not_ in the mood for any of this. Talcott lets out an excited greeting; Noctis can’t help but smile and wave back. He shuffles down the stairs, plopping down in one of the spare seats, looking around at everyone. Ignis, Iris and Monica are preparing food, each giving some really specific input about what varieties of vegetables to use with the particular dish. Noctis would prefer none personally, but he gets no say in any of this.

“Good afternoon, Prince Noctis,” Monica says pleasantly from across the room. “I trust you slept well?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Noctis replies with a groan, resting his head on his arms and staring off blankly through the open door, watching as the sky changes in colour to signal the day’s end once more. The atmosphere falls silent, everyone seemingly immersed with something of their own, leaving Noctis to mull over his thoughts once more. It’s not a habit he particularly likes having picked up, but it comes so naturally lately, he finds himself drifting away to some other place mentally, stuck between the past and the what-ifs. A gentle rhythmic thudding sounds in his ears, lulling him into a trance. He’s just so tired.

Something nudges against his skin, and he finally looks away from his focal point to see Prompto poking him, pointing over to the plates of food being carried over. The thudding has stopped; he realises it that was his own work. Leaning back in chair, he stretches his still aching arms and lets out a long yawn as the plate is set down in front of him.

“Aren’t you sleeping well, Prince Noctis?” Talcott asks curiously from across the table. Noctis hums in response, stabbing idly at his meal. “My grandfather knew about this really good herbal drink that helped with sleep. Maybe that can help?”

“Maybe…” He appreciates the gesture, but he’s not sure his problem can be solved with anything so simple. He goes back to quietly picking at his food, managing just over half before declaring himself done. He’s tempted to try and get some more shut eye before it gets dark. Even if he doesn’t sleep, he just wants to relax and try not to think about things. Easier said than done, but he’ll take what he can get.

Excusing himself with a small thanks, he heads back to the bedroom, hoping to get some sleep before the others pile in for the night.

 

Words die on Noctis’ lips as his eyes open just a peek, met with darkness. He rolls over, attempting to see if the others have joined him. ...No?

He rubs the heel of his palm against his eye—he can’t remember the last time his eyes have hurt this much. Even Titan himself couldn’t raise this level of pain. Scrunching them tight shut, he can make out voices outside the room. Squinting past the ache as it works its way round to his head, he crawls out of bed, wincing at the pains shooting through his body as he gets to his feet. He lets out a frustrated groan; is this _ever_ going to stop?

For the second time today he opens the door, peering out over the small indoor balcony at the others playing a card game. He shuffles forward and leans on the railing, watching quietly as they carry on distractedly.

Gladio’s the first one to notice him. “Hey, how long you been there?” he asks, collecting some cards to shuffle back into the deck. Noctis shrugs.

“Few minutes. What time is it?”

“Time to call it a night, I believe,” Ignis declares, getting from his seat as the others follow suit. He’s the first one up the stairs, placing a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “If you’d rather not sleep tonight and are in need of some company, all you have to do is ask.” Noctis gives a small smile in response.

“Thanks, Specs.”

 

He’s exhausted, there’s no two ways about it. He’d somehow managed to doze off at night, despite doing all he can to stay awake, only to be met with more worried looks and words he’d been supposedly saying in his sleep. Something about water again, about...something that sounded a little too close to mutilation by its description. Not a thought he wants to linger on. The rest of the night had been spent musing over the photos Ignis had finally shared with him on his phone. They were pedestals each side of that creature, each lined with ancient texts. He’s been hoping something will click in his mind while looking at them, but so far, not much luck.

The others had left to earn a little extra gil and buy more food, leaving Noctis without much company left. Iris had invited him out for for fresh air, so here he is, standing at the back of the lighthouse, arms rested on the fence as he looks out to the sea. Iris is quiet beside him, soaking in the refreshing breeze and calm atmosphere. He can see her side glancing him from the corner of his vision, that same concern in her eyes that he’s far too used to seeing from the others lately. He lets out a long breath, hunching over even more.

“So...Noct?” Iris finally breaks the silence, her voice hesitant but still holding brightness in it. “I heard you haven’t been sleeping well lately. Wanna talk about it?”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. If only talking would actually fix it, then he’d be fine. Or maybe not, since talking about the mess of thoughts and emotions he’s bottled up sounds like an awful idea. It’s a noble thought at least.

“It’s um...it’s complicated,” he replies, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Nights have been a bit rough, that’s all.” Iris nods a little in vague understanding.

“It’s a scary world at night, especially with the daemons about.” She lets out an unenthusiastic laugh. “Not good for keeping thoughts at bay either.” Silence descends once more, much more melancholy this time, as Iris looks out to the sea again, watching as the afternoon sun ripples off the waves. The wind picks up, gaining more bite to it; she rubs her arms against the chill.

“Hey, do you wanna…?” She turns to look at Noctis, question falling flat on her lips. “Noct?” He’s staring ahead blankly, eyes shimmering with...something she’s not familiar with.

“ _We have to go._ ” It’s a whisper, barely heard over the waves and winds.

“Go where? Noct?” Iris places a hand on his arm.

He blinks once, then twice. The strange glimmer in his eyes is gone, replaced with a distant glaze. “I don’t...know.” Iris jumps back a little.

“Noct, your nose—you’re bleeding!”

It takes a long few seconds for the words to register as he sluggishly brings his hand up to feel something warm and wet. He examines it, almost fascinated by the sight. Iris takes his free wrist.

“Quick, let’s head back inside.”

 

“You feeling any better?” Iris asks, rinsing out another cloth as Noctis sits at the table, head down with a blood-stained cloth over his nose, staring groggily at nothing in particular. He mumbles something indistinct in response and Iris lets out an fond chuckle. “Yeah, I thought so.” She pulls up a seat, fresh cloth at the ready, giving Noctis a long hard look. “Y’know,” she begins, fidgeting idly with her fingers. “The others told me about what happened last week.”

Noctis finally looks at her, eyes widening a little before darting away once more. “So you know how messed up I’ve been lately?” His voice is muffled from the cloth, but he doesn’t care to move it just yet.

“You’re not messed up,” Iris protests, pouting at him. “It’s just...something out of you or anyone else’s control.” She sighs frustratedly. “As usual.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, daring to check if the bleeding has stopped. It seems to have, thankfully, as he places it on the table.

“So.” He looks up at the hesitation in Iris’ voice; she’s looking down at her hands. “Is this the first time... _that_ has happened in the daylight?”

It takes him a few seconds to admit it. It’s not something he feels he wants to admit, but it can’t be ignored. He nods, looking down to the table, resigned. Iris nods back slowly, worriedly.

“I know this isn’t how you were hoping it’d be when we showed up. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says with the hint of a smile, warm and hopeful. “We’ll tell the others when they get back. And if you need someone to talk to—even if it’s the middle of the night—I’m here. Got it?”

A smile creeps up on his face, in spite of everything. It feels like he’s going crazy, but everyone’s on his side. He really has some amazing friends.

 

The next couple of days pass with no incident, thankfully. Nothing he would call an incident, anyway. The same aches come to him at night, but sleeping during the daytime is paying off, reducing them to something far less severe. It still hurts, but he can handle it.

He’s content to sit at the table at night, playing games on his phone or card games with either one of the guys or Iris. They’re all too happy to keep him company at night, something he’s eternally thankful for. Some nights descend into joyful reminiscing of past escapades, accidentally waking someone and following with profuse apologies followed by more laughter.

It’s not ideal, not by a long shot, but it’s only until they get a lead on how to stop this from happening. He just hopes it comes soon, for everyone’s sake.

 

He doesn’t feel part of his body anymore, it’s as if he can see everything around him all at once. A dark void, swirling with remnants of chaotic magic. Why does this place feel so familiar?

“ _It seems our words are not reaching you._ ”

He knows that voice better than he ever should.

“ _Too many times you have forgotten what we must say. Of our past, of our desire._ ”

The void melts into stone walls, lined with intricate pillars adorned with patterns. The view ripples before him, light coming in ebbs and waves. Figures form a distance away, alongside unusual looking equipment that wouldn’t look out of place in Costlemark Tower. He’s able to get closer, but not by much. Some of the figures look human—others, not so much.

_“They captured us, dragged us into this dungeon. They deigned to create a_ god _out of us.”_

A god? He doesn’t understand, who are ‘they’? Who is _‘us’_?

“ _They tore us limb from limb, our bodies, their mere playthings. They fused us into something...unholy. Something that should have never been, nor should be._ ”

The disembodied voice rises in intensity, sending a sharp pain through Noctis’ skull as the images change to grotesque depictions he desperately wishes to look away from.

_“They called us complete, they declared this abominable form ‘perfect’—a divine creation to rival the gods themselves.”_ Louder, angrier. _“And yet…”_

Noctis wants to cover his ears, but his body either does not respond...if it even exists in this realm.

_“And yet they cast us aside! Declared us uncontrollable—stripped us of our power and bound us by chain. The gods turned their backs and left us to the daemons. Each and every night, they feasted upon our flesh, our bone, until we were no better than them.”_

Noctis’ body must exist within this realm—it burns, it stabs. It’s ripped apart as if the daemons are claiming his flesh for their own. He can’t scream, can’t escape.

_“They_ feared _us.”_

He can’t see, the pain around his eyes as if they are no longer within their sockets. Can’t breathe, like his lungs have been torn to shreds.

_“And they were right to.”_

He is finally released, letting out a desperate scream as the vision dissolves at long last.

 

He’s on fire. Every muscle is spasming for relief as he thrashes about with limbs he’s sure had been torn from him. Something is wrapped around him securely, muffled shouting coming from too far away. Still can’t breathe, still can’t open his eyes...does he even have eyes anymore? He feels warm liquid sliding down to his lip—the familiar tang that accompanies it. Fear grips him at the thought of his insides strewn from his body.

All he can do is scream, cry, _beg_ for it to stop. The secure, warm hold on him never slackens. It’s the only thing he can hold onto.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he at long last stops writhing, breaths at long last becoming more than just sharp gasps, descending into sobs. He holds himself tightly—is he still in one piece? Arms, legs, torso, head. It’s all there. All there.

He hears...static? No...it’s gentle shushing, quiet reassurances on loop. His stuttering heart finally begins to calm. Eyes open hesitantly, vision blurry and far too bright. He can still _see_. Wrapped around him is a pair of tattooed arms. Gladio.

“Noct?” A hand meets with his head, petting deeply through his hair. Prompto leans in. His face scrunches up with pent up emotions, before he jumps off the bed, heading to the door. “Iggy, he’s back with us!” He’s by Noctis’ side again in seconds, taking his trembling hand between his own. It’s...bloody? Smears and spatters of blood are all over, now he thinks about it. On the covers, on Gladio’s arms. He tastes copper again and reaches up, fresh blood seeping onto his fingers.

“Here,” Gladio says, reaching over to grab a few tissues. “Keep your head down, okay?”

“Right,” Noctis mumbles shakily. Everything still hurts too much—was he really awake and safe? The door creaks open and Ignis enters with Iris, each looking equally pale.

“Noct.” Ignis sounds breathless, leaning over the bed as Prompto jumps away to make room. He hands Noctis a cloth to replace the blood soaked tissues. “How do you feel? Do you remember anything?”

“I…” He rubs at his head, an ache still shooting through it. “Stone. Yelling. It _hurts_.” He hunches over, and Ignis soothes a hand through his hair.

“That creature spoke to you, correct?” A small nod. “As I thought. You spoke every word it said, much more coherently than the past week too.” He moves back. “Has the bleeding stopped?”

“I...I think so.” He removes the cloth, pressing his finger against his nostril to be sure. It seems it’s finally let up.

“If you’re feeling strong enough, perhaps a shower might be in order. We can take care of things here.”

“Right…” Gladio moves to let him stand. He’s shaky, but it’s not bad. Just shock. Casting a glance out of the window, it dawns on him. It’s not even late afternoon yet. These visions that haunt him at night—they’re now invading his mind during the day too.

“I’ve put some fresh clothes in the bathroom for you,” Iris says with an uneasy smile.

“Right. Thanks.” He’s hesitant to close the door, craving time alone while also dreading it. He gives himself a check over in the mirror, seeing the tear tracks down his cheeks, brows pinched in disgust at his own blood all over him. It must have happened while he was thrashing about, there was no way they’d try to stem the flow while he was like that.

The water’s nice, it does wonders for the lingering pain, the cleansing feeling of scrubbing the sweat and blood from his skin. Images from the vision flash in his mind, intrusive and unwanted. He gags at the thought, throwing up his breakfast as the water washes it away. Fresh tears fall as he fruitlessly wills the thoughts from his mind. Whatever that thing wanted him to remember, he definitely does now.

He stays in the shower until there’s no hot water left, toweling off roughly and grabbing the clothes Iris had left for him. Taking a deep breath, he looks into the mirror once more. He’s pale, cheeks flushed from the hot water, bags under his eyes and crusted blood around his nostrils. He looks an absolute mess. Looking back down at the sink, his eyes linger on his still trembling hands.

_“You will find your answers where the waters lie above you.”_

His blood runs cold at the words he speaks. Head snapping up to the mirror once more, he’s greeted with his eyes unlike his own, magic glowing in them once more.

_“You know this land—we have seen that you do. The prison known as Steyliff.”_

“Steyliff?” he repeats, his voice wavering. Their journey there greeted them with a decaying structure warped by time. It had looked abandoned for _centuries_ . “Who _are_ you?”

_“We are those abandoned by the gods in their time of war, when once we spake on their behalf.”_

“Wait...you’re messengers?!” The glow in his eyes has already faded, leaving no further answers.

Running a hand through his damp hair, he moves to open the door just a fraction, listening to the voices outside.

“How are we even gonna go about this?” Gladio. “A couple more days and who knows what he’ll do!”

“Maybe…it might not be so bad next time?” Prompto doesn’t sound like he believes those words in the slightest.

“He wasn’t just talking in his sleep. He was _screaming_ .” Gladio lets out a tired breath. “Gonna be hearing that shit for _weeks_.”

“Noct said he had to ‘go’, but didn’t know where.” Iris. “The other day by the lighthouse—remember?” Noctis opens the door a little more. They’re too caught up in the conversation to notice.

“It’s highly likely the remedy could come from the location it claims it was created. Short of learning a dead language, the runes on those pedestals are proving fruitless. I have a few theories about locations, but—”

“Steyliff.”

All heads turn to him, silence descending at last as he leans in the doorway, expression disturbingly calm considering the clamour in his mind. He shrugs, lips pursing in mild frustration.

“Don’t stop just ‘cause I’m here.” An air of guilt seems to wash over everyone briefly as they attempt to pick up the pieces of conversation.

“Noct, did you just say ‘Steyliff’?” Ignis asks to clarify. “What makes you say there?”

Noctis steps further into the room, looking around at everyone. Gladio’s now sporting a rising bruise or two, no doubt his work. He ignores that for the moment. “They told me.” He sits on a free space on the bed, next to Iris.

“‘They’?” Prompto asks.

“The creature, I presume?”

Noctis rubs at his eyes. There’s still a dull ache pressing on them. “Yeah, they...they were messengers, I think. Something _really_ bad happened to them. I think they’re stuck.”

“Shit…” Gladio says quietly. “If we’re gonna make it there by nightfall, we gotta get moving now.” He stands from the bed, looking between everyone. “Iris, I—”

She holds a hand up to cut him off. “I know Gladdy, it’s fine.” She looks over to Noctis, a frown setting on her face. “You guys don’t know what that thing’s going to do—it could turn nasty.” She looks back to Gladio. “Just...be careful, okay? Call me as soon as you can.”

“‘Course,” Gladio replies, pulling her into a hug.

They don’t have long, just time to gather some supplies, soon piled into the Regalia and onwards to Steyliff Grove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I um...I had fun with this one. Probably too much fun. Things are starting to come together though!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! <3
> 
> ~For updates and fandom stuff, check out my [creative](http://doodlebless.tumblr.com) blog. Also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/angel_bless) too!~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They head to Steyliff Grove, hoping to put an end this once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho, here we go! Not much to say, really. Hope you enjoy! :D

The drive to Steyliff Grove is a quiet one. Ignis cuts more than a few corners on the lonelier stretches of the road. It’s unlike him, but no one says anything against it. Noctis rests his arms on the side of the car, head upon them as he stares blankly at the passing scenery.

He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, even as the silences magnifies the swirling thoughts in his mind. He’s afraid of what he might say if he does, afraid of what might happen if he closes his eyes. The incoherent whispering...it hasn’t stopped since he woke up. A dim chatter, but there nonetheless. He squeezes his eyes tight shut—he hates this, he just wants it to stop. No more nightmares, no more feeling like his body is being ripped to shreds, no more being used as a puppet for some long forgotten being to speak through. Just...no more.

Tears prick in his eyes and he drags in a deep breath. It’ll be over soon, he tells himself, practically on loop by this point. He leans back into his seat, trying to get comfortable. It’s just not possible, like his body is crying out to be someplace else, refusing to settle until he’s there. Gladio casts him a long look, before returning his attention to the book in his hand. His eyes still dart in Noctis’ direction every few seconds.

It won’t be long now. Just a little longer.

 

“This thing couldn’t be someplace drier, could it?” Prompto groans as they trudge through water and mud. The sun’s already dipped below the horizon, making the ominous feeling around the area somehow even worse. Ignis checks his phone. 8:13pm.

“The doorway should be open now, if memory serves correctly,” Ignis announces, casting a look back at the others. Gladio hangs back, partly to be besides Noctis and partly due to his lack of familiarity with the terrain compared to the others.

“So what’s the deal with this place?” he asks. “You said you came here while I was with the marshal, but was there anything as weird as that  _ thing _ last time?”

“Nothing like that, but the structure did carry an unusual aura about it,” Ignis says, adjusting his glasses.

“The floorways collapsed, but they rose right back up again!” Prompto adds. “There’s water  _ way _ above you, but you’re not  _ actually _ underwater. It’s like there’s some weird magic going on there or something!”

“Might not be wrong.” Everyone turns to Noctis, who hasn’t spoken more than a word or two since they set off. “If the people here did... _ this _ —” He gestures towards his head vaguely, hoping they get the point. “—then maybe they’ve done other things too?”

“It’s very possible.” Ignis slows, the structures around them becoming more distinct and recognisable. “The entrance is just up ahead. Is everyone prepared?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Prompto says with a nervous grin. The runes lining the walls are lit up; Noctis studies them until the door opens before them. One by one they descend the stairs deep below the water.

 

It seems like even here the daemons fear the creature that so desperately clings to Noctis. They keep their distance, either sinking back down into the ground or retreating as far as they can. On a positive note, it means no fighting at least. Noctis watches them carefully, his pace slowing down as his body chills faster than the ruins should have allowed.

_ “It feels so very long since last we were within these walls.” _

A hand smacks to his mouth, eyes wide. He should have guessed they would want to speak through him here. He draws in shaky breaths through his nose, lips pressed tightly together as the others are besides him in seconds.

“Shit—stop using my voice!” he grits out, lowering his hand, casting a shaky, almost apologetic look at each of the others. “I can’t stop it, I—”

“Perhaps it is best if we allow them to speak.” Noctis’ face pales even more at Ignis’ suggestion. He places a comforting hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “We may learn more of what happened to them down here, about the truth of these ruins.” He looks Noctis dead in the eyes, serious and honest. “We will be with you, Noct. It will be alright.”

Noctis manages a shaky nod. “Okay,” he breathes out. The four continue onwards, deeper down into whatever had happened here.

“So...do you remember anything about this place?” Noctis asks. He feels like he’s going crazy, like he’s speaking with himself. Then again, with all that’s been going on, he’s felt crazy for a long time, so that’s nothing new.

_ “We remember...more. This prison...it is imbued with a powerful magic, torn from others of our kind. The body and will may be gone, but the power resides within these very walls.” _ Noctis looks at the stone walls as they continue along the walkways, trying desperately to stay calm while this being uses him like some ventriloquist dummy.

“They captured other messengers?” Gladio wonders aloud, running a hand along the wall as if trying to feel something. “Who were they?”

_ “As we have forgotten our names, so to have we have forgotten the names of our kin. The waters…” _ Noctis looks up at the water looming over their heads.  _ “They are held aloft by such magic, as an eternal symbol of the inhabitants’ dead journeying to the realm beyond.” _

“I see,” Ignis says quietly. He keeps his focus on Noctis, watching the shaky way he draws in breath, how exhausted and apprehensive he looks. He wishes there could be a better way to solve this, some way for Noctis to sit back and let them handle it, but he knows that can’t be. Still, he—

“Iggy, watch it!”

He’s pulled back by Gladio, watching as the bridge before him collapses. He’d almost stepped onto the crumbling stones in his distraction.

“Apologies.” Gladio gives Ignis a look, before sighing, running a hand through his hair.

“So, what now? We wait for it to fix itself?” Gladio asks, approaching the edge of the fallen stonework and peering down. Barely seconds later, the remains of the bridge raise once more, reforming as if no damage had ever been done.

“What the…” Prompto claps a hand on Gladio’s shoulder at his confused words.

“Gladio, my man, I  _ told _ you this place was weird!”

_ “Many times we made attempts to break free of this prison. It was all for nought, as the walls rebuilt themselves around us.” _

“The remnants of the lost messengers’ abilities, I presume,” Ignis inquires, expression remaining neutral.

_ “Yes. Their bodies are long gone, perhaps even fuelling the fusion of their power and this place. If only something were to be done to save these poor souls...”  _ There’s a wistfulness to Noctis’—to the  _ being’s _ —tone as it trails off.  _ “Such a pitiable situation.” _

So they can’t be saved. The thought makes Noctis’ stomach knot, knowing that there only remains fleeting power and nothing more; that even as they searched for the mythril with Aranea, the presence of the messengers of old had been all around them and they had never even known.

Is there really nothing they can do?

A caved in archway blocks their path forward, as Gladio moves forward to inspect. He jumps back as they begin to rise, reforming the structure they had once fallen from.

“Don’t see that everyday,” he says quietly, patting at the entryway, testing to make sure it won’t fall again.

_ “It will be safe.” _ A pause as Noctis takes in the sight of the repaired arch.  _ “It would seem that they are guiding our way, even now.” _

They walk in silence for a while, with only their footsteps, crumbling debris and the distant cries of daemons to be heard. Noctis scratches idly at his neck, feeling along a slight indentation where one of the barbs had pierced through his flesh before. He knows there’s many more, barely noticeable thanks to the potions he was given, but still very much there. The thought that this being is lingering in the back of his mind—mere seconds away from that level of control again—sends chills through him.

The rest of the bridges thankfully hold as they finally approach down the final flights of stairs, leading to the spacious room, lit eerily by the waters above. Noctis can sense something stirring among the constant whispering. Something forebodingly unsettled. As he takes a few cautious steps into the room, his mind screaming at him an unwillingness to be here. The need to  _ flee _ .

_ “It’s not...fair...” _

He halts, breath picking up as he the feeling only gets worse. Too many emotions stirring.

He remains frozen in place, anxiety bubbling as Ignis turns to look at him.

“Noct?”

_ “How long has it been? How long have we been sealed away, at the mercy of the daemons, all because of these disgusting creatures? We deserve freedom—we deserve  _ justice. _ And yet…” _ Noctis’ eyes flicker, a torrent of emotion coursing through him; grief and rage not his own as his voice rises.  _ “And yet there is nary a soul left! None to make pay for the agony we have endured!” _

The others are on guard. “It has been millennia since this structure has been inhabited,” Ignis says firmly. “The people that did this to you are long gone, their descendants dead or lost to the four corners. We are merely here to see you set free, nothing more.”

_ “No…” _ This feels wrong, so very wrong. Noctis’ skin prickles with magic, his mind a race of whispers, soon bordering on screaming, drowning out words he pleads with his tongue to speak. A desperate cry escapes his throat as his hands race up to his ears, desperate to block out the din. The being materialises behind Noctis at long last, ragged cloth dripping with foul black, chains poised. He spins around, eyes wide and fearful at the sight.  _ “If they are not here to suffer…” _ The aggression in his voice is a stark contrast to his terrified gaze.  _ “...Then these lowsome wretches you call your allies shall suffer in their stead.” _

Noctis’ blood froze.

“No...” His voice is quiet, shaky, as he struggles to drag air into his lungs. He steels himself, turning to the others—a sound barely escapes his lips as a chain latches around his arm, yanking it towards the entrance as dark fire blazes from his hand, burying their only path of escape in rubble. He pulls against the restraint, desperate to get free, a sharp clash of metal upon metal and the resistance is gone, nearly sending him crashing to the ground. Gladio stands between Noctis and the creature, greatsword ready to strike again.

“Shit—” Noctis gasps as he pries the metal from his flesh, barbs burning as they’re pulled free. His eyes snap to the back of Gladio’s head. “What are you doing?!”

“Saving your ass, what does it look like?” Gladio growls, knocking away another couple of chains that fly towards their target. He pulls out a potion and hands it to Noctis, eyes still trained on the threat. “Well? You gonna fight or not?”

Noctis draws his sword. If he can’t run, he can at least keep that thing away from him until they can figure something out. Prompto’s by his side, hurrying him across the room as Ignis stands besides Gladio. Noctis can’t take his eyes from them as they hack and slash against every chain they can, Prompto firing off precision shots at any that got past them. He’s so thankful he can warp when needed; he just hopes the others won’t get caught in the crossfire.

He’s gasping for breath after just a few minutes, sleepless nights and magical exhaustion draining him faster than he’s ever experienced before.

Stumbling forward to keep his balance, he hears a cry from across the room. One of the chains has sliced deeply through Ignis’ arm. More than enough time for a new focused barrage to be sent in Noctis’ direction.

He warps away, but it anticipates his moves, he slices at them, but more keep coming. He’s just so tired; he can’t keep doing this. Taking a second too long to recover from yet another warp, his screams sound distant in his ears as the chains lodge themselves around him once more.

It burns, metal digging into his flesh—a feeling he hoped to never feel again. He hears his name called, hears the more clashes of metal, but his head’s so loud, it sounds fuzzy.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to say—for all the good it will do—coughing as the chain around his neck tightens. “Find a way out. Run, ple—”

_ “Enough!” _

His sword is poised against his will as he launches forward, swinging down upon Prompto. The gunner rolls, scrambling to his feet as the sword collides with stone.

_ “Years we have been prisoner, left to the daemons and beasts. We deserve what we are owed!” _

Tears spill from Noctis’ eyes.  _ Their _ tears.

_ “If those monsters are no longer of this world, it matters not. Blood shall be spilt upon this realm of the dead!” _

Gladio moves to slice at the chains, halted by black fire as the puppeteer expertly controls its tool.

Noctis can’t think of a way to stop this. He needs time, needs to think—there  _ has _ to be a way! His sword dissolves as a strange new magic forms in the palms of his bloodied hands. The ground quakes ominously as his fingers clench, spikes of stone rising from the ground all around him. A swipe of his arms and it clears, firing debris all around. Daggers summoned to hand, he’d forced to pace around. The others are...looking for him? How can they not see him?! His body shimmers with a strange new magic, forcing itself into his body and released through him, taking his own magic with it as fuel.

He’s  _ invisible _ .

His vision ripples, like there’s some phase shift between him and the world around him. The chain tightens further—he can’t warn them. He’s behind Ignis when he’s launched towards him, managing a slice against his shoulder as he reemerges, Ignis blocking the next attack and jumping back to gain some distance.

He can’t follow Ignis’ gaze as he looks towards the creature; he can only hear the gunshots, the startled cry from Prompto, and see Ignis’ eyes going wide.

“Prompto?!” Noctis gasps out, unable to hear anything from his friend. He pulls against his restraints, trying to see his friend, crying out as they only dig in deeper.

_ “They are...persistent.” _ He’s turned so that all three of his friends are in his sights, daggers dismissed. He doesn’t have a choice in what he’s able to do with his own magic, none of his powers are his to use anymore. A truly terrifying thought. He sees Prompto, unconscious at the bottom of the steps. His stomach turns.

His arms are raised high, a sickly green aura surrounds them as the atmosphere in the room changes.

The small patches of grass lining the room wilt; it’s as if the life is being sucked out of them, out of the entire area.

His own muscles tremble as foreign magic once more courses through him, overloading his senses as his heart stutters. This isn’t magic any human is meant to use.

Ignis holds a hand to his head, blinking hard as his body trembles. Gladio is similar, holding steady, but arms straining to keep his sword steady.

It’s all that’s needed as chains wrap their way around the two, binding their arms as Gladio’s weapon drops to the ground. Ignis heaves in difficult breaths, he’s closer than Gladio, taking the worst of the spell.

“Noct…” he manages between gasps. “Forgive...me…” His head slumps as his consciousness dips. The spell is ended and Noctis is barely able to draw in any air, the toll of the magic only getting worse as his hands are lowered to his side.

“No…” he croaks out as he’s turned to face Gladio.

_ “And now...” _ A single dagger summoned once more to hand, and he’s forced to walk closer to Gladio’s bound form.  _ “In your mind—your memories—we have seen this man. This man who has pledged his life to protect you. Will you mourn the loss of your shield, should he fall? He is a very useful pawn, after all.” _

Anger surges through Noctis at the words— _ words he himself is speaking _ . That  _ thing _ has seen into his mind, and dares to call one of his closest friends a pawn?! He locks eyes with Gladio, his arms and body bound by chains as he continues to fight against them, blood seeping from his skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his shield so fearful before, a bitter resignation lingering in his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Noct,” Gladio says, voice somehow managing to remain firm. He can’t be giving up, this can’t be happening! But he feels it, the creature’s malice that runs through his veins; the helplessness, the pain.

“No…no!” Noctis’ heart sinks at the words. “Don’t do this to me Gladio!” he grits out. He’s running out of time. He needs to make this creature understand, he needs to stop them! “You can’t—you won’t make me do this!”

_ “Silence.” _

Another chain latches itself around his mouth, digging in with each movement of his jaw, slicing against his tongue as he tries to speak past it.

He’s less than a couple of metres away from Gladio. His mind is racing with what ifs and way to make this right. They...they weren’t right from the moment they entered this room. What’s making them act so irrationally? Are they close to their goal? He has to make them see sense. This has to end.

Fist trembling around the hilt of his dagger, he feels the barbs dig in with each slight movement, the spasms of pain shooting through his arm, mingling with the rest of the fire coursing through him. This is going to hurt.

He pulls against the metal, gritting his teeth against the metal in his mouth as he forces his other hand to meet with the dagger, turning it towards him. He can barely hear Gladio roaring his name as static and screeching invades his mind at the overload of pain that blots out his senses. Oh gods, it  _ hurts _ . He just has to keep pushing, he has to stop this now!

The chains pull taughter, trying to force him to relent, but he’s nearly got it, the dagger is pointed at his own stomach. He’s going to stop it, one way or another, and it’s not going to come at the expense of his friends.

It edges closer, bit by bit. His body is screaming at him with every ounce of effort he pours in. The tip of the blade presses against his shirt. It’s a gambit—if this doesn’t work, he’s done for.

The dagger in his hand dissolves away, the chain around his mouth releasing, leaving him gasping at the sting from the sudden motion, the taste of blood thick in his mouth.

_ “Speak.” _

It’s a long few seconds before he even feels able to. His hands continue to shake from exertion, not wanting to let his minute level of control ease for even a second. “You won’t…” He winces, words slippery on his tongue. “You won’t take them from me.” He drags in a few short gasps of air. “I know you’re hurting, I know what those people did here was beyond redemption. But they’re  _ gone _ , and you are  _ not _ going to take away my friends. I’ll take my own life before I take theirs.”

The colour drains from Gladio’s face. “Noct—”

“Remember this.” He doesn’t want to hear what Gladio’s about to say. That can wait for when this whole mess is over. He’s able to move his head just a little, enough to get the creature in his sights from the corner of his vision. There’s a ferocity in his voice that echoes across the room. “I die, and so does your last chance of being free.”

What feels like an eternity passes, before chain by chain, he’s finally released. He crashes to his knees, muscles spasming from the strain.

_ “We...have caused grief upon those who would help us, those who set us free. Our mind has become clouded with grief, with anger, our thoughts of nothing but those who wronged us.” _

Tears tumble down Noctis’ cheeks once more; he’s unsure if it’s the being’s sorrow or his own relief. He feels a hand on his shoulder, looking up from the ground to see Gladio free. He’s given a potion, an exhausted ‘thank you’ mumbled as he barely manages to down it.

“I know,” Noctis says, carefully getting to his feet, a wave of nausea overtaking him as his vision spots. “I...I’ve seen into your mind, too. Whatever’s keeping you here, it’s powerful. Powerful enough to let your rage consume you.”

He looks over to the far end of the room. There’s something there he hadn’t felt before, a strange energy emanating. That must be the way. But first…

He stumbles over to Ignis as Gladio rushes over to Prompto. Potions can only do so much, but they do enough, as Ignis’ eyes crack open, before closing again. He’s weak, but alive.

He looks over to Gladio carrying a dazed Prompto over to them as he hauls himself to his feet once more. Whatever’s beyond this room, it won’t wait any longer.

“Noct, what’s up?” Gladio asks, placing Prompto on the ground.

“I’m...going on ahead.” His sore fists clench, his gaze fixed on where he knows he’s meant to be. “I need to get this over with, now. Can you take care of Ignis and Prompto for me?”

“You want me to leave you alone after what just happened?! I should—”

“They need you more than I do right now.” He keeps his head locked on his destination, willing his nerves to calm. “Please.”

He feels Gladio pulling more potions out of the armiger, silently thanking him for not protesting any more. He can’t deal with this right now, he already feels he’s reaching his limits. He’s just thankful the ache he feels so deep within his bones is incomparable to when he woke in Cape Caem. If all of that has been just a mere fraction of what those poor messengers had felt for all those centuries…

Noctis won’t let them wait another minute longer.

 

He can hear the others coming to as he finally finds what he’s after—a barely noticeable gap in the wall he had so easily missed the last time. It looks recently crumbled; he can’t help but think what remains of the messengers’ power within this place is still helping them. His torch shines against the dark, uncovering debris and roots lining the corridor.

Fumbling along the dimly lit area, fingers brushing against the walls, he follows the feeling in the back of his mind, leading him closer, closer…

His fingertips tingle through the stone as he freezes. It’s here, behind the wall. It has to be. He summons his blade to hand, taking a few steps back and warp striking into it. The brickwork crumbles and he stumbles to keep upright, vision prickling as he closes his eyes, breathing deeply. There’s not much left in him, he has to make this quick.

Stairs lead him further down, into depths he never knew existed within such a place. He’s silent, the whispers in his mind still speaking incoherently to him. He concentrates on them and feels as if he can almost make them out, almost hear stories of the past lost to everyone else.

“Hey,” he says, knowing full well the creature is listening. “You said you didn’t remember your names, right?” A pause.

_ “That is correct. Our names were lost to the centuries. We...do not even know who we once were before we were forced into this accursed form.” _

The absurdity of this being using his own voice to speak—that he technically speaks to himself—is long gone, lost in the sobriety of the moment. He’s not even sure they can return to who they once were, whether they’ll ever remember. “If you don’t get separated after this, if you’re still...you. Maybe…” He trails off, suddenly feeling conscious of his words.

_ “Speak, Chosen. Our time grows short.” _

“Pridem.”

_ “‘Pridem’?” _

“A name. It’s…‘what once was, long ago’. You at least deserve a name.”

_ “Pridem…Pridem...” _ They speak the name as if to test it.  _ “We shall wear it with honour. Thank you.” _

A tired smile flickers on Noctis’ face as they continue further down in silence.

Minutes pass and the feeling of energy Noctis felt before only grows stronger. It leaves his stomach churning as he covers his mouth, swallowing hard. A putrid smell lingers in the air, not unlike the rotten smell of the poor creature this structure had borne. The flights of stairs finally come to an end, a poorly stoned up doorway awaiting them. As Noctis approaches, the blockage collapses, and he sees the cause of the smell. Human bones lay scattered  by the doorway, scratchmarks dug deep into the stone. They were trying to escape.

A crushing pressure in his head has him gasping for air, a hand raised to rub at his temple as it recedes as quickly as it had come. At the end of the expansive room, a glowing stone rests atop a pedestal, wires connecting it to machinery. The room pulses with chaotic energy, sending spikes of pain through Noctis’ body like a heartbeat.

_ “This is…what has kept bound us here for so very long.” _

He summons his sword as the energy claws its way at his skin. How long has this thing been growing out of control? Has it been dormant until these peoples’ creation was unbound once more? Or was it always like this, unnoticed by all who entered?

He moves forward, knees almost buckling as the air only grows thicker with each step closer. His skin grows raw, head feeling ready to split in two. He grips at his hair with his free hand, gritting his teeth and finally making it close enough to strike, swinging at it with all the might his screaming muscles can muster. It bounces off without even a scratch, the dense magic forming a barrier.

The creature—Pridem—forms behind him, the chill of their presence blissfully soothing the burning of his skin. Chains shoot at the stone, dissolving upon impact and leaving it unscathed. The stone is neutralising the attacks, immune to their power. He strikes again, but is ricocheted once more as the chains prove little use against it. They don’t seem enough on their own. Maybe—

A shockwave surges from the stone, launching him backwards. He doesn’t hit the ground—something blocks his way. Twisting his head to see, chains are laced behind him, keeping him from falling back any further. He pointedly ignores the prickling burns forming on his skin from the blast begging for his attention, catching sight of the being behind him instead. Most of the old tattered cloth covering them had been disintegrated from the blast, leaving a much more gruesome sight in its wake.

Bare skull and bones, with hints of flesh still remaining, freely dangling. A single horn anchored to the side of their head, jaw hanging slack with fangs and the slightest hint of a muzzle. Cloth tangled up within their ribcage, mixed with whatever remains of the poor creature. Their very physique is a contradiction of bipedal and quadrupedal design, neither meant to exist within a single form. He’d seen glimpses before, but this? Oh gods, what did these people  _ do _ to them?!

A sharp jolt through his head has his thoughts reeling. He clutches at it. He needs to  _ think _ .

“Help me,” he grinds out, barely heard over the roaring of the stone, closing his eyes tight and sucking in a sharp pained breath. His heart pounds harder still, like it’s going to explode. “Please!”

He doesn’t even care as Pridem’s chains circle around his arm, keeping his sword firmly in place, how they wrap around his torso and legs to steady his body as it barely supports itself. His vision wavers as he forces air into his lungs; it’s like fire burning down his throat, he can’t last much longer. “‘M’ready...” He’s barely able to speak more than a whisper, coughing hard and wincing at the fresh taste of blood that greets him. He knows that they can hear what he’s unable say, as his arm is brought back for him, launching his sword with tremendous speed, enough force to feel as if his arm is going to be wrenched from its socket. He can’t steel himself for what’s coming next—he follows the sword and hopes it’s managed to break through.

A blue flash and the momentum of his body rams into the hilt of the blade full on, cracking into the stone. The chains push him harder, forcing him into the hilt even harder, pleading for something to give. Blood trickles down his nose, the pressure is too much—from both magic and the chains binding him. His head is light, he can’t breathe. This...it has to work, if it doesn’t—

A tremendous cracking sound echoes over everything else, his sword passing through the stone as it’s broken to pieces. He’s pulled back, intense nausea washing over him as something moves between him and the final burst of energy from the destroyed artefact. The chains dissolve away. He pries his eyes open, the dim light of the room still enough to pierce through his senses. The twisted form of the messengers looms over him, a surprising amount of expression in their face. Or maybe he can just feel it from their connection.

“P...Pri…” His chest seizes as he hacks, desperate to clear his lungs. There’s no part of him this doesn’t feel like it’s been ripped to shreds, gashes and burns littering his body.  _ Gods _ , he just wants to pass out already so he doesn’t have to deal with  _ any _ of this. But…

_ “Do not speak, Chosen.” _

They didn’t...use his voice? He can hear it, so clearly in his head. It’s so different than before, the whispering gone. He still opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, but is silenced by the hazy sight before him. Piece by piece, the bony remains crumble and dissolve away, pieces breaking off and apparitions emerging. They separate for the briefest of moments, then come together again, a cycle of trying to break free and returning to their current form. It’s hard to see clearly, but they look...happy.

_ “We cannot thank you enough for what you have done,” _ Pridem speaks in Noctis’ mind. “Freedom had seemed impossible and yet…” They trail off briefly.  _ “We have seen the sorrow and loss within your short life. May your undying strength deliver this star from the darkness that has long plagued it.” _ The ruins rumble, loose stone falling from the ceiling.  _ “Our time is short, the hold of magic within these walls is faltering.” _ The blood rushing in Noctis’ head threatens to drown out their words. He can barely focus on them looking to the other side of the room.  _ “Your allies approach. We shall do what we can. We beg of you, please—” _

Everything goes black.

 

_ “We are sorry that we must part like this.” _

A figure in cloth stands before him...wherever this is. A robe drapes over them, a dull teal unblemished by the scourge, covering the majority of their body, tattered at the sleeves and edges.

_ “We wish we had more time.” _

They look upon him with red eyes, as if searching into his soul, blue fur peeking from under their hood; feather, scale and flesh are littered across their skin like patchwork.

_ “We truly cannot thank you enough for all you have done. We can only apologise for the stress it has placed upon you.” _

They reach to him with a reptilian clawed hand, mismatched by the long bony paw on their other side.

_ “Continue to fight; continue to shine, Chosen.” _

Everything begins to fade to white.

_ “We bless you from afar.” _

 

Upon attempting it, Noctis decides opening his eyes is a very bad idea. So is moving any part of him, it seems. He lets out a weak groan as his head rolls to one side. What was he even doing? There was...magic, pain—a  _ lot _ of pain. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, like he’s trying to catch dust with a net. He tries opening his eyes once more, hoping this time he’s more successful. Wherever he is, it’s dimly lit.

“Noct? You back with us?”

That’s...Prompto? Yeah, it’s fuzzy and only a whisper but it definitely sounds like Prompto. Noctis wants to know if he’s doing okay. He’s not sure why, but he feels like he needs to ask. Another groan escapes him. Seems talking isn’t that easy right now either. A blurry tuft of blond enters his vision, a hand stroking through his hair. It’s so relaxing, he could almost fall asleep…

“Hey, no dozing off yet!” The harsh whisper makes him jolt as an arm reaches around his shoulders to sit him up. He doesn’t have the energy to protest, blinking slowly with a complete lack of comprehension of what’s happening. A glass of water’s brought to his lips; it tastes heavenly. He hadn’t realised how dry his throat is.

“You ‘kay?” he finally mumbles, confused at Prompto’s disbelieving laugh.

“Nothing a potion or two couldn’t fix,” he says with a grin. “More worried about you, bud. How you feeling?” He’s guided back down to the bed, taking in the wonderful fluffiness of the pillows.

“...Tired.”

“No surprises there. Ignis and Gladio are asleep in the next room. Get some more sleep, we’ll talk later.”

No complaints there. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, but he can figure that out some other time.

 

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s even darker than before, besides the lamp at his bedside. There’s a chill in the air as he sluggishly moves to bury himself further under the covers. He can’t see any of the others about or hear any signs of life. He racks his brain for potential answers, coming up short.

Instead he closes his eyes, trying to focus on the memories that are finally swirling back into life in his mind. That’s right...the messengers, Steyliff, that stone…

Another chill courses through him as he opens his eyes once again. A figure is now stood a short distance from his bedside, clad in black, eyes closed.

“Gentiana?” Noctis croaks out, fighting against his exhausted aching muscles as he rolls onto his side to see her better. She doesn’t respond, her expression a strange mix of emotions. After a long silence, he finally speaks. “Did you...know them?” She nods slowly, eyes finally opening. Where usually Noctis is met with calm, he finds sorrow, relief.

“Long ago they had been thought lost in the war,” she speaks softly. “Buried in the midsts of time, no records would remain.” Her eyes close again, face once more settling into a neutral expression. “It is better this way. They cannot go back to what they once were. Perhaps they may not wish it so.”

The room grows hazy and in the blink of an eye, she is gone.

“Thank you, O Chosen.” Her words whisper across the room as he feels sleep pulling him under once more. He drifts between dreams and deep slumber. He’s not even sure if what he just saw was real or not.

 

He hears voices before anything else. Ignis, then Prompto, then finally a grunt of acknowledgement from Gladio. Letting out a long low whine as he curls up tight under his covers, he finally relents and opens his eyes. Within seconds they’re all around him, hovering a little too close for his liking.

“Back off, will you?” he mumbles, earning a chuckle from Gladio.

“I suppose that’s a sure sign of recovery,” Ignis says with a relieved sigh. “You certainly know how to make our jobs harder, Noct.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he groans, rubbing at his eyes and shuffling back against his pillows to sit upright. It’s only then he realises there’s bandages on his forearms, leading to his hands and fingers. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling a face at how grubby it feels. “All this astral and messenger business is seriously bad for my health.”

“You’re telling us!” Prompto squeaks. “We thought you were  _ dead _ !”

Noctis blinks at him in surprise as Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not  _ quite _ that dramatic, but...you were in particularly awful shape, Noct.” He reaches for the fresh glass of water, encouraging him to drink. “Burns and lacerations aside, whatever happened down there led to internal damage too, from what we can tell. We’re thankful to that being for helping us escape and keeping you alive long enough to heal you.”

“Pridem…” Noctis mutters, fists clenching shakily around the covers.

“‘Pridem’?” Gladio repeats.

“They needed a name—they couldn’t remember their own.” He closes his eyes, thinking back to everything he’d seen about them; about the horrors they had suffered for so very long. He can’t even imagine what it’s like to endure that for so many years, forgotten by all.

Maybe he had drifted off again, he’s not sure, because the next thing he knows, he’s been prodded gently, a bowl of soup presented before him. His stomach lets off a sudden rumble at the smell, finally waking up. He dreads to think how long it’s been since he’s eaten.

“So,” he asks between spoonfuls. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Meldacio,” Gladio explains. “Hauled you over here as soon as we knew you weren’t gonna die on us.”

“Gonna take more than that to finish me off,” Noctis replies with a smirk. He’s exhausted, but he doesn’t care. It just feels nice to wake up without the feeling of being shattered and ripped into pieces. Pridem is gone; to where, he doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter, as long as they’re free.

 

It’s only been a couple of days since he’s been able to stay awake for longer than a couple of hours. His exhaustion—physical, psychological  _ and _ magical—ran deep. He can’t believe it’s been a week since the events in Steyliff Grove already. Although considering how long he’s spent asleep, it shouldn’t be too surprising. Finally enjoying some fresh air, he doesn’t even hear footsteps approach.

“We should be good to head out again soon.” He turns to see Gladio as he takes a seat next to him. Noctis stretches, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Not on some new Royal Arm tip, I hope.”

“Nah, just some errands to do. Nothing big.” Noctis nods idly as silence settles, only broken by the occasional chatter of the people around them or the odd car passing by. “So…” He side glances Gladio at the word. “About what you said, back when we were fighting.”

“Gladio…” He replies warningly.

“You realise our job is to protect you, right? Not for you to throw your life away on our behalf.” Gladio’s voice is even, nowhere near like the anger he expected.

“I know,” Noctis replies bluntly. He really doesn’t to talk about this; that his own shield had to helplessly witness his prince attempt to take his own life to protect everyone else. “It was my only option. How else was I going to make them see sense?”

“And if it hadn’t worked?” Noctis shakes his head.

“Don’t think about it. Please.” He’s certainly been trying not to.

“Right…” Another silence, and Noctis starts absentmindedly scratching at one of the more noticeable scars on his arm, eyes drifting over the faint remains of damage from the barbs. He doesn’t know if it’s the tension in the air or wind picking up as the sun dips lower in the sky, but he feels itchy, uncomfortable. He leans forward in his seat, contemplating taking a walk.

“I didn’t tell the others, by the way.”

He halts, casting Gladio a silent look, waiting.

“We’ll do better next time.  _ I’ll _ do better. I promise.” Noctis can’t help but smile at Gladio’s words. He knows he’s worried the crap out of them these past couple of weeks. He’s lucky to have them. Finally getting to his feet, he hears Prompto calling them from the eatery across the way.

“Ignis is ordering some food, get your butts over here or he’s gonna pick something gross!”

As Noctis jogs across the street, he can’t believe how much has changed over the past couple of weeks. He feels so much lighter, breathes so much more easily, his head unclouded after what feels like far too long. He feels rejuvenated; maybe Pridem’s parting gift was more than keeping him from death’s door?

As he meets with Prompto and Ignis, a breeze settles around him, different from the one funnelling in through the cliffs that surround the town. Gentle, warm...familiar. Maybe Pridem is watching over him? It’s not for him to say. He looks up to the sky through the gaps in the rocks; it’s a beautiful orange, soon to be black. He smiles, genuine and content. He no longer has to fear the night, and neither do they.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a fun one! Noctis having an easy time is just not possible I swear xD
> 
> Thanks so much everyone for reading! <3
> 
> ~For updates and fandom stuff, check out my [creative](http://doodlebless.tumblr.com) blog! Also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/angel_bless) too!~

**Author's Note:**

> Body horror/possession? Yes please >:3 I've got to thank recent FFXV canon for cementing this idea in my head, definitely looking forward to revealing more about this strange being in the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> ~For updates and fandom stuff, check out my [creative](http://doodlebless.tumblr.com) blog. Also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/angel_bless) too!~


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